When the Ignorant Wake
by ViciousPixie
Summary: The Chapters are screwed up and for some reason Fanfiction.net wont let me change it to be right...sorry bout that! (Part 4 up!)
1. When the Ignorant Wake

Okay, I'm not sure how this will go over, just something I wrote in my boring "study hall" class when I didn't have anything else to do…I would like reviews to let me know if I should even attempt to continue this story or remove it from existence, heh.  
  
Obviously these characters don't belong to me, it they did, I'd marry Tyler Durdan *drools* gah, I'd jump him no matter what he looks like, and I'm not entirely referring to the movie here, more just the characters from the book itself, one of the best books I've read in a long time; thanks Chuck!  
  
****************  
  
'I am not a unique snowflake.  
  
'I am not my khaki pants.  
  
'I am not my Mercedes Benz.  
  
They always run through my mind. Always. Tyler's words, controlling my brain, always. I tried the whole white, padded room with the little blue and red pills. I tried the solitary confinement. Tried the therapy.  
  
'You are not what your therapist wants to make you.'  
  
But there they are, always. I constantly hear his voice, his deep, but soft, voice which seems to put me at ease, and yet frustrate me so. I liked the solitary confinement.  
  
'No you didn't, you liked me'  
  
The people were always nice to me, even when I tried to stab one of them, or so I was told later. I have no recollection of such an activity. I liked playing solitaire for hours on end while sitting on the only furniture in the room; a little white cot, you know, the kind which look like a stretcher, complete with the straps to tie you down with. Everything I did had to be solitaire, and I loved it.  
  
'No, you miss beating the shit out of perfect blondes, and you know it.'  
  
I have, reluctantly, learned to ignore him, however, some things are meant to happen. You could call it fate if you wanted to, I wouldn't though. Fate is too sappy of a word, and besides, it means nothing. Just something civilization made up so they have even more things to blame their problems on instead of themselves. That's the only thing about this place that bothers me the most. Anything wrong with a person is never their fault, its always re-directed, or forgotten. This one therapist, the first one I had when I came here, was like that.  
  
"Now, I understand your situation," He had said, "and I want you to know that its not your fault. You are a bright man, but unfortunately had some bad times, that's all. But you can turn it around to make yourself better and prove you're not really like that."  
  
"And what if I am?" I asked him, to see just what kind of bullshit he'd feed me next.  
  
"But you're not, and over the next few months, because that's what it will take, you will realize this and we will discover what overcame you."  
  
"So, in other words, you're saying I'm crazy, and you're going to probe me until I crack and spew out any and all 'misfortunes' that have ever befallen me." The therapist, Mr. Jackson, only looked calmly at me, you know, that look someone gives to a five year old throwing a tantrum. I wanted throw my fist into his jaw to see if he'd still look at me the same. "Then, after you 'analyze' my whole life, you will determine that my crazy 'episode' was nothing more then someone reaching out for attention because of the abandonment I feel from the parents who left me on the steps of a stranger's house, or because when I was twelve my dog and only companion was killed by a car, or maybe it was the fact that I never got a girlfriend until I was 20. Then, after all that analyzing, you will sit down with a council to declare me 'cured' when, in fact, all that has taken place is I told you a lot of lies and exaggerated stories in exchange for the drugs which put me in such a euphoric state, I could care less if I lie in my white room and only eat mashed potatoes and mystery meat."  
  
After a long silence, and after Mr. Jackson was finished writing on the clean paper on his white clipboard, the therapist said to me, while pointing the tip of his pen at one of the many things he scribbled down, "Tell me more about how your parents left you." He didn't even listen nor catch that what I was trying to do was insult his work.  
  
"They never did." I explained, voice slowly raising with the anger and unprecedented hatred I felt for this man all of a sudden. "I never had a dog, and my first girlfriend I got when I was 16!" The therapist wrote all that down and I only got angrier, "What the fuck are you writing? That not only am I crazy, but I am a chronic liar as well?" I laughed because his face still remained its' same placid self. "You know, you would be a really attractive man if you'd only smile." Not that I meant it, he was bald, wrinkly and old, probably couldn't fight worth shit.  
  
There I go again, measuring up a man by how he could fight, damn.  
  
Saying that comment I expected him to liven up a little, maybe give me a queer scowl, but I was rewarded nothing but the same dull expression; his face turned downward towards the clipboard, eyebrows creeping over the bi- focal glasses sitting upon his bulbous nose, and his eyes peering from behind them, looking larger then they really were. His forehead looked like freshly cultivated farmland; rows after rows of rolled skin. I don't think he had any hair on his head because it was all transferred into his ears and eyebrows. I always thought of this when I looked at him and wondered where else the hair might have gone, imagining a thick carpet of white-gray hairs blanketing his back. I would always shudder.  
  
But that's enough about Mr. Jackson; I think you get the picture. When I wasn't being forced to talk to him that one hour of my day, I was too busy being happy. I loved playing in the gardens of dandelions and clovers during our "outside time." After being in a little room all day, other then the visit with the therapist, the outside sky never seemed bluer, the rain never tasted sweeter, the wind never enveloped you the same delightful way before. I never had problems sleeping. In fact, I couldn't get enough of it. I never felt so at home, at peace, so happy before in my life, that place was heaven for me; or maybe it was the drugs, who knows.  
  
Also, the benefits of being so solitaire is the return to humanity and the utter love you feel for them. Once again, maybe it was the drugs, but the first time Marla visited me it had been a month since I had seen her and I was genuinely joyous. She, of course, was just Marla, commenting on how shitty I looked and how she couldn't wait till I got out, so she had to sleep with some prick she picked up off the streets, but none of it bothered me because it was Marla. Marla here, with me.  
  
Of course Tyler despised her and kept trying to yell at her through me, but I wouldn't allow him to do that. I finally learned how to keep him to myself, and I stopped trying to make people understand that I'm not crazy, I didn't make up Tyler, that Tyler was really another person, or entity, or whatever you would call it, within me. I told people I had just gone temporary insane. But did I believe that? I started to, until yesterday night. 


	2. Crawling in the Darkness

I never knew what time it was within the white, confined room I was kept in, but why would I need to? I do know it was especially early when I fell asleep yesterday, however, because the asylum was still smoldering hot. The air conditioner had broken down due to being overworked; it has been a really hot summer. I loved it, made me feel human as my ass stuck to the plastic covering my cot. But in this heat, all you can really do is sleep, or at least lye and gaze at the stucco ceiling, envisioning kittens and puppies.  
  
Gotta love those yellow pills.  
  
Normally, I don't dream with such heat, but I did this day. I dreamt Tyler was real, and Tyler and I were next-door neighbors. We were great friends. The friend I always wished for, Tyler was. Only, he had Marla. I, well, all I had was a little bitch of a poodle. How I hated that poodle, it always pissed on my Yin/Yang shaped table, of course my favorite piece of Swedish furniture. Damn poodle.  
  
Next thing I know, I'm splashed with water, cold fucking water, and Tyler is standing over me.  
  
'Is this still the dream?'  
  
"Of course not, fuck head." Tyler walked back and forth, watching me as I stumbled to my feet, but I couldn't get up, a sharp pain shot through my senses. My leg, it hurt so bad, felt like some creature was gnawing on it. Looking down, I saw it in a splint, blood everywhere, and swollen like a fucker. "Hurts, don't it?"  
  
"What did you do to me?" But as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I was no longer in my safe padded room, but in some dark, dank place. It reeked of urine and death. I looked back at Tyler, who was laughing at me. "Where am I? What the fuck did you do this time?"  
  
"I'm saving us. Now we don't have to take those pills which slowly kill me, we don't have to have the same mashed potatoes and shit, we are free again, and being free means being able to start Fight Club back up again." He walked over to a bag, which had a hazardous sign on it.  
  
"You're crazy Tyler! You know I wont go along this time, I wont allow you to do this." He came back over to me and grabbed for my arm, which I promptly tore away.  
  
"Stop struggling, this will help the pain." He fought with me for only a few seconds, but I was too weak to keep it up and he thrusted a needle into my right arm. "Haven't I always taken care of you? What have I done for you to distrust me so?" He got off of my chest and took a step back. I slowly tried to pull myself over to the nearest wall so I had something to brace myself on to get up. "Fuck, why are you so difficult to me? All I have done was give you a better life, a life worth living, and you know it." He walked over my mangled leg and squatted down. "Look, I need you, I need you just as much as you need me," his blue eyes stared in mine like an eagle looks at its' prey, "but we have to work together if we are going to make our friendship better. You do want us the way we were before, don't you? That unconditional love I gave you, don't you miss that?"  
  
"Tyler, you're crazy. I'm crazy." His face had a hurt expression swept over it, which was quickly changed into anger as he slapped me.  
  
"Fuck you, Fuck you!" He got back up and walked to the other side of the room, then came back, then returned to the other side again in his pacing. "What the fuck am I supposed to do? You gave me freedom, and now I want more. I want to finish my work, don't you see?" He came back over to me, pleading eyes meeting again with my own. "We can't truly be free until we have deconstructed civilization as we know it, you know that's the truth. We have to finish what we started."  
  
"No, Tyler, we don't. I'm through with that idea, I'm through with fight club." He took a step back, peering down on me, with a scowl of a smile, quite devious, and laughed.  
  
"That's the brilliant part; we don't have to do anything with fight club, we don't have to restart the mission, we don't have to recreate the same teams of space monkeys. They never ceased their training, they continued fight club on their own. They still create and complete project mayhem homework, all on their own! Can you imagine?" He stopped and gave me a genuine smile, the one that you would kill for, and then kneeled next to me, taking my face into his hands, his surprisingly warm hands. "You did the best thing for us by being put in that jail of a place. The publicity was unbelievable."  
  
"You," He laughed as he rubbed my face gently with his thumb, "you kept Fight Club alive." I looked at him in horror, instantly knowing what he meant. "The people out there, the hundred or so fight clubs full of Space Monkeys, are waiting for their savor, for their new god, Tyler. But its you, don't you understand? You did all this, whether you fight it or not, you continue to purposely plan things so it always goes your way in the long run. You are going to be the one who finally reestablishes the new world order, with peace, and prosperity, and all around blissfulness."  
  
By this time I was wheeling with thoughts in my head, all wanting to deny responsibility. But it came down to the same thing every time, Tyler was right, I was right. Everything Tyler said kept re[eating itself in my head, and it was starting to make sense to me, I was realizing Tyler's visions.  
  
"Imagine it, just as I always have dreamt, we will bring humans back to what they are meant to be, the keepers of this earth. We were put here to protect it, but instead all we do is fuck it up. Not anymore. No, we will make it so gray slate buildings will become the new caves for fruit bats in South America, School grounds the new hunting pastures of Cougars in North America. Vines and flowers of all types will eventually take root, making the cities we live in now into towered forests. Damns will be torn down to make way for the soon to be flourishing again fish. All is possible, and will be done. Be done because of you, you will be mother earth."  
  
I gave him a queer look, "Mother earth?"  
  
"Fine, fucking FATHER earth! It doesn't matter; you will be worshipped across the planet, forever. Of course you will forever more be referred to as 'Sir'." He laughed again. "Can you picture it? In the future they will have 'Books of the Sir,' your very own bible! You will be looked upon as God, eventually you will be God, they wont know any other such deity." I thought about all this with untainted disgust, and found it ultimately distasteful to think of such things…but the more I thought, the more I liked it.  
  
'I? God?' it did sound great, and was completely possible, no doubt about that. Tyler would figure it out, he had plans.  
  
No, scratch that, I had plans. 


	3. The smells of life Mold, Smoke, and Leat...

 Every night we traveled to a new location, sticking to shadows as Tyler dragged my impish body. Sneaking around like that, we were reduced to mere rodents. Tyler said the mental hospital was still looking for us, it was just best to move around, while my leg healed anyway. I guess I broke it when I jumped out of the third story window of the hospital, although I don't remember it.  
  
Tyler says a lot of people tend to blank out traumatic events in their lives. Tyler always knows what to say.  
  
I wanted to see my future worshippers again, let them know I wasn't dead like they all believed, but Tyler told me I had to wait; cant let my followers see me in a weak position as now. Tyler always knows what's right.  
  
A month later my leg was healed enough so I could walk without my crutches. Two more weeks and I didn't need the make shift cast anymore. Another two weeks and I was, more or less, back to my old self again. Tyler said it wasn't good enough; I needed more time so I could build the muscles back up. For three solid weeks I was drilled to do 100 pushups, crunches and pull-ups every three hours and ran a mile twice a day. It was hell, at first, but with Tyler being the enforcer, after the first six days, I was able to do them all with ease, taking naps every now and then until the next drill.  
  
On the last day of drilling, Tyler watched me do all 100 pushups and asked, while smoking his cigarette, "How you feeling?"  
  
"Great!" I thought he had quit smoking. In fact, I'm sure of it, right before I did.  
  
"Good. Do 100 more." He commanded and I complied. Quickly, I whipped out another 100, muscles only beginning to be sore towards the last 10. "Good job. Again."  
  
"C'mon Tyler, lemme just…"  
  
"No!" he yelled as he kicked me back down. "Another fucking set!" I obeyed. By the 82nd pushup of the third set, my already sore muscles felt as though Tyler had just shoved that cigarette into my shoulders, but I did them, did them to the last fucking one.  
  
"Go shower now, you smell like shit." I collapsed onto the floor, body thumping with my heart, especially in my head.  
  
Thirty minutes later I came out of the small bathroom; looking around I didn't see Tyler and decidedly took a break, throwing myself onto one of the beds in the room. I laid on my stomach with my face in the surprisingly soft pillow.  
  
Breathing in the disgusting smell of mold and smoke, I coughed. It reminded me of Marla. Marla…  
  
I rolled over, hand searching blindly the table next to the bed for a cigarette which it quickly found. I lit up, still staring at the ceiling, taking that first, blissfully euphoric puff.  
  
Marla…  
  
I closed my eyes again, trying to picture her face. Suddenly, Tyler jumped onto the bed, pinning my arms down, grinning. I instinctively fought back and gasped in surprise.  
  
"Tyler! What the fuck are you doing, you bastard!" He peered down at me, still with that shit-eating grin plastered upon his face. He looked like a clown. I never did like clowns. Just as suddenly as he had jumped on me, I felt his soft moist lips on mine, for only a split second. My eyes wide with shock, I gawked at him, not knowing what to do next. He only smiled.  
  
"Get rest. Tomorrow, my liege, you will finally get to see civilization, see you're peers and followers. You're ready." I sighed with relief that I would soon no longer have to move from shit hole to shit hole, I had to do that when I was younger. I hated it then and I hate it now.  
  
"You mean it, Tyler?" He nodded and then pulled the covers back for me to crawl into. I had already forgotten that kiss. It wasn't important. "That's great news! To actually see people…and fight clubs…and Marla…" At that, although I was slowly drifting off to sleep, he slapped me and my eyes instantly jut open.  
  
"No! No Marla. She has done nothing but ruin you, ruin us. We don't need her, good riddance." I didn't like this idea, it scared me. I wanted something which made me comfortable, and Marla was just that, comfort. She always made me realize what shit the world was made of, she was my reality. "No, she was a fuck. That's all. And I will find you another, one more worthy of you. Now, go to sleep, you have a big day ahead of you."  
  
 'But, I miss her…' I kept thinking about her, about fight club, about everything, and I didn't think I could ever get to sleep, but at some point I had, somehow.  
  
***************  
  
Tyler was the last thing I saw before I went to sleep and the first when I awoke. He was standing on the end of the bed, with the covers in his hands from just ripping them away from my warm body, exposing it to the utter cold.  
  
"Put this on. We're going out." He said with a smile as he tossed me an outfit. It was an eccentric outfit, and something Tyler would wear, only with a pizzazz of my style mixed in. A black leather trench floated above the ground, with a silver dress, button up shirt underneath it, barely visible. The pants were the oddest, however, made of some black, plastic type material. The outfit came complete with black sunglasses with silver rims and tint.  
  
I looked in the mirror and was astonished at the transformation that took place seemingly over night. Tyler had been busy and cut my hair: buzzed on the sides and back and only slightly long on the top. He came over and ran his fingers threw my hair, putting some kind of gel through it to make little spikes. My face was shaved, the beard that had grown over the last few months was completely gone, and I had just come to accept it too.  
  
I now looked just like Tyler. This wasn't me, this was Tyler. Tyler was making me like him.  
  
"Don't complain, you like it." He said, turning me towards a chair to get my black army boots on, stompers I call them. I watched him lace them up, how intricate it seemed and yet elementary simple. He then stood up and I noticed his outfit, very similar to my own, only he had a dark red trench, a metallic black shirt, and red plastic pants. What a pair we made. We looked like those typical, common trouble makers, the kind that supposedly 'always' do things like steal, loot, shoot up schools, etc. Ya know, the kind depicted in movies all the time. It was such a cliché I had to laugh at it. Only Tyler would choose such a cliché on purpose.  
  
"Ok, now that you're all ready, we can go." 


	4. Brought Into the Light

Ahhh.I finally update this story. Sorry I took so long to get it up.having a bout of writer's block can be a bitch. It's short, but at least its an update. Hope it goes over well! ***********  
  
Daylight. Never had the sun seemed so bright in my entire life. I was free, free to take back what was mine. Tyler walked in front of me while I took advantage of the people surrounding me; their smells, looks, voices, everything. It was all so exciting, like I was a being from another existence and just woke to this new and intriguing world. We went to a cozy little place for some dinner, watched the sun sink over the gray horizon made out of the towering buildings which held the corporations of some money driven asshole's dreams. Tyler and I just laughed and had fun, like how we used to. It was nice to live. After dinner, we walked down the yellow-lit sidewalks, passing the whores and drug addicts looking for their fixes. Tyler stopped at the door to a run down bar. He grabbed my shoulders and smiled excitedly at me. "This is it. This is the moment you are resurrected from death. There is no turning back, this is our past." I nodded and he opened the door. The bar was more or less empty, except for a lonely drunkard and the bar tender. The tender was watching some sports game on the TV, arm in a cast and sling, and didn't even look up. "What's your order?" a zombie like voice, with obvious resentment, wishing he wasn't in this shit hole, wishing he was elsewhere. Tyler ignored him and continued to the side of the bar where the only other exit out of here other then the front door existed. As he started to open it, the man finally turned around. "Hey! What do you.think.what the hell?" We ignored him still and went down the stairs into a noisy basement that reeked of men. We continued into the room, despite the fact that the bartender was now following us, trying to ask us to turn around, but it was far too noisy to really hear him anyway. The infamous circle of testosterone driven men lay in the middle of the cement room, cheering and rooting on their favorite of the two men now beating each other's brains in. I followed Tyler as he walked on the outer edge of the circle, pacing around it like the ferocious panther he was. Slowly, the men on the opposite side from wherever Tyler was noticed him.noticed me.and shut up, staring in awe at the shadow of death closing in. Soon the other men noticed their attention and also looked to Tyler, every once in a while whispering to others. The fight in the middle ceased once their cheering did. All eyes were on us. "You know who I am, good. Saves me a lot of explaining." Tyler said with sarcasm. He knew everyone would recognize us. The room was filled with awe and nervousness I have never felt before. As Tyler walked to the middle of the room, I just stood back and watched, but knowing full well it was really me walking into the pit of sweaty men. "My space monkeys.you have all done so well, just as we planned. You all kept your word to continue the clubs and the missions, job well done. But now I have returned, returned to finish what we only started to do and this time I am never going to disappear again!"  
  
*********  
  
After a long night of celebration, we finally went to our new home. New was an understatement. It was yet another run down shit of a house in the middle of an abandoned neighborhood. Probably abandoned because it was contaminated with some kind of radiation. Mutant fish showed up in the nearby lake or something, causing hundreds of lawsuits and new money to move somewhere else and buy more things they didn't need and cant afford.  
  
Ah, what happiness a lawsuit can bring.  
  
At least this place was better then the last one Tyler and I were dying in, and only because the druids already living here had cleaned the place up and made it livable. Couldn't get any quiet in this house though, it was crawling with people 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Anywhere I went, people were always asking me "Can I pour that for you, sir?", "Do you want us to cook you something, Sir?", "Anything I can get you, Sir?". Enough to make a man vomit. At some points I wished I had some of those yellow pills. As if the house wasn't full enough, people started randomly showing up, from all over the country. Once every room in the house was filled with at least fifteen occupants or more, they started fixing up the other houses in the neighborhood. Everytime I asked what was going on, they looked at me oddly then replyed "Others are coming, Sir, just as you asked." They came by bus, airplane, hitch hiking, car, and any other feasible way possible. I watched as the house next to ours filled up, then the one next to it, and so on and so forth. People from Minnesota, Washington, Texas, even fucking Alaska came. Men from British Columbia, Quebec, even England itself flocked to our roach infested little hell hole of the world.  
  
It was beautiful, truly a sight to behold. They all came for Tyler, all came to see the man who started it all and would end it all. They all came for redemption and acceptance. They all came because they believed in something unbelievable, something none of them understood themselves. 


End file.
